


Homecoming

by Storycat9



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe Decker Finds Out, Chloe Decker Needs A Hug, Episode: s02e09 Homewrecker, F/M, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, No Beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storycat9/pseuds/Storycat9
Summary: “Right, well, let me at least buy you dinner tonight to celebrate. I know this amazing steakhouse. The chef’s an absolute artist in the kitchen--I mean, he’s also a degenerate gambler and owes me a favor. Otherwise, you’ll just go home and eat one of those poisonous sandwiches you get from the vending machine at work. … C’mon, Detective! Friends help each other out.”It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Lucifer had been doing fine until Chloe had arrived early.orWhat might have happened if Chloe had a little less Pride and more Wrath after Lucifer stood her up.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 22
Kudos: 226





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies again for no beta. I'm trying to fix any errors I find, so let me know if you see any.

_“Right, well, let me at least buy you dinner tonight to celebrate. I know this amazing steakhouse. The chef’s an absolute artist in the kitchen--I mean, he’s also a degenerate gambler and owes me a favor. Otherwise, you’ll just go home and eat one of those poisonous sandwiches you get from the vending machine at work. … C’mon, Detective! Friends help each other out.”_

* * *

He’d been doing fine until she’d arrived early. 

Scratch that, he’d been doing _great_. Fizzy with triumph and excitement. He could hear the noise and energy of Lux’s patrons below, celebrating the club’s designation as a historic site. He had a set at midnight and was hoping he could entice the Detective back for a drink after dinner. Lucifer could picture dedicating songs from the whole history of the club to her, ensuring a standing ovation from the entire Lux crowd to their savior. 

_Detective, you’ve saved my home. I-I-I simply don’t know what to say. I’m normally doing the favors--and for a price._

Lucifer still felt the warmth of her smile hours later. 

_Friends help each other out._

The Detective had paperwork to finish up and preferred to get the little Spawn picked up and fed before setting her up with whatever babysitter was watching her, so they were meeting for a late dinner at Hy’s at 8:30. He hummed and sang to himself as he got ready, soft-shoeing a little through his closet as he pulled a navy shirt to pair with his black Armani suit. He hooked his jacket over a finger and slung it over one shoulder, half-wishing fedoras were still in style, and grinned at himself in the mirror. A Devil at the top of his game.

At 8:05, Lucifer settled down for a quick snifter of brandy before heading over. He had plenty of time.

His phone buzzed at 8:11 and he glanced at it, a half-smile on his face that somehow froze. 

_Detective: I’m here._

The Detective was early. She was at the restaurant already. 

Right, of course she was early. Punctual to a fault, that one. It wasn’t like he was _late_. Not a problem, he’d just toss back his brandy and pop over. Hy’s was only 10 minutes away, even in LA traffic. He lifted the phone to thumb a quick text to let her know he was on his way.

Ten minutes later, he hadn’t moved.

His long fingers still cradled the phone as though it were a dying baby bird. His brain worked furiously.

What am I doing? Send the text and go.

She got there early. Was she … excited to see me?

Maybe. Maybe I’ll get there and she’ll ...

I should send a flirty text on my way. Or not. She sees me as a friend. Flirting makes her uncomfortable. 

Right, forget the text. Just get up. 

I’m going to be late if I don’t get up right now.

Lucifer winced at the thought of the disappointment in the Detective’s eyes as he arrives late, again, to their date. He swallowed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced himself to his feet, put on his jacket, rolled into something approaching his normal swagger and headed for the elevator. It was ok. He turned the lights off and pressed the call button for the elevator, glancing at his phone.

8:33. Officially late. The phone buzzed in his hand. 

_Detective: Want me to order you anything?_

Abruptly there was no air. While he was flailing and gnashing his teeth at demolition workers, the Detective had found a way to save his home. He has no way to pay her back for it, and he’s already late for his pitiful attempt to try, and even now she’s … kind. Offering to cover for him, even with herself.

Lucifer stood in the dark, one hand on the edge of the elevator call button. The elevator doors opened, its light a noir film slash across his face. He let the doors close. 

* * *

Things had been fine until Chloe let herself be seated at the restaurant.

When she first arrived on the cocktail side of Hy’s, Lucifer’s Detective was a beautiful woman sitting alone but comfortable at the bar, her habitual tight ponytail softened with little wisps framing her face. Her soft fluffy sweater was proof in her own mind at least that she was here for dinner with a _friend_ , not a _date_ , but that was a little contradicted by the way her plain, super-short skirt and chunky heels made her legs seem to go on forever. 

Most of all, there was a quiet, happy glow of anticipation about her. Whether she knew it or not, wanted to show it or not, Chloe Decker looked like nothing so much as her own daughter waiting for ice cream. She knew she was way early, and she swiftly buried her head in the very expensive-looking menu after the third time a man casually tried to buy her a drink in the course of 15 minutes. If Lucifer saw people hitting on her, she figured he was more likely to tease her mercilessly than rescue her.

“Your table is ready, Ms. Decker,” said the effortlessly gracious hostess. “Would you like to be seated?” 

She smiled gratefully. “Yes, please. I’m sure my partner will be here soon.”

Chloe settled into the seat where she could keep an eye on the door. Lucifer was a few minutes late, which meant he should be here in 10 minutes or so. She ordered another glass of red wine and shot him a quick text asking Lucifer if she should order for him. Chloe had an eye on the branzino with basil, lime and ginger, but she knew he had mentioned wanting to try the prime strip.

8:33 p.m. _Detective: Want me to order you anything?_

_..._

9:07 p.m. _Detective: Where are you?_

_..._

9:42 p.m. _Detective: Are you ok?_

* * *

Lucifer sat preternaturally still in the darkened penthouse. The phone buzzed and lit up just beside his hand. His mouth parted but no sound came out. His breath came too fast, pained. 

10:17 p.m. _Detective: Fine, I’m heading home._

Right, that’s done, then. 

Lucifer turned the phone over, unable to look at it. The Lux party below was only building, but somehow he felt as far away from home as he had ever been.

* * *

_Fine, I’m heading home._

Chloe pressed send and called for the check. Even sticking to a side salad and bread--plus most of a bottle of red wine over the last _two goddamn hours_ of waiting--she was dropping nearly $80 with tip on Lucifer’s little no-show thank you dinner. Hell, she half-wished she had taken up one of the offers to buy her a drink earlier--it would’ve been one less drink to pay for now.

Her waiter, who’d had to watch the slow fall of her expression over the course of the evening, had tried to tell her it was covered, but also knew better than to argue with her insistence on paying her way instead.

Chloe stalked out of the restaurant, furious with herself. She should have spent the evening preparing for the trial of her father’s killer tomorrow, not waiting on a playboy club owner who was probably at this moment drinking celebratory shots out of someone’s naked belly button. She had a sudden, shockingly clear vision of driving over to Lux and stomping in to yell at him, only to find him sitting at his bar with some redhead’s legs wrapped around his head. He’d pop up with one of those sheepish, shit-eating grins that gave her an instant migraine.

_Terribly sorry love, lost track of the time. And as you can see, couldn’t exactly hear my phone. … Still, no harm done, you’re welcome to join the celebration now that you’re here!_

She shuddered, digging through her purse … _where_ were her damn keys?

Chloe shook her purse, frustrated, before hearing someone call from the restaurant behind her. She’d left them. Because of course she couldn’t get out of here without one more little humiliation.

Lucifer probably wouldn’t even remember he’d offered dinner until he checked his phone sometime tomorrow and saw her texts. Chloe felt a grim sliver of satisfaction that he’d likely show up at the precinct full of awkward apologies, having forgotten she’d taken time off for the duration of Perry Smith’s trial. At least she wouldn’t have to look at his stupid, handsome face for a few days. 

By then she’d have enough time to make sure her walls were solidly up. This roiling rage and hurt was … too much … for a blown-off friend dinner. If he got the impression she was actually hurt, rather than irritated and exasperated … no, god, she’d never hear the end of it. Chloe lectured herself all the way home, her hands clenched white on the wheel.

The light was on in the living room when Chloe approached the driveway. 

Her mother was still up.

Penelope Decker had come into town for the trial and had offered to stay with Trixie to give Chloe the night off for her “just dinner with a friend.” Her mom certainly wasn’t expecting her back this early, and while she was cheerfully oblivious to a lot of things, Chloe knew she was going to take one look at her daughter and know that something had gone horribly wrong. Just one final embarrassment to make the night perfect.

And Chloe just … couldn’t … do it.

Fuck this. She had needed just one relaxing night before the certain anguish of the trial. Just talking and dinner and maybe even a repeat of laughing until her face was red as he swung her in a dizzy circle of music--and that wasn’t too much to ask, fuck you very much, Lucifer Morningstar. 

Chloe slammed her fist into the steering wheel hard enough to bruise. She abruptly accelerated past her house and circled the block, heading back into town. She was almost certain she’d be better off holding onto what was left of her pride, but wrath was feeling much, much better right now.

* * *

Gus the bouncer didn’t just wave her through; he smiled wide and called out as soon as he saw her approach, waving her forward. “Detective Decker!”

She managed a smile in return, not wanting to take out her fury on someone who didn’t deserve it. Gus bent his bulk a little in her direction as he pulled the door open for her. “Ma’am, the Boss told us what you did. You’re the guest of honor tonight for sure.”

She faltered for a second at that, before squaring her shoulders and stalking into the club. She swiveled around, seeking Lucifer’s dark head over the crush of the crowd, but couldn't find him. Gritting her teeth, she leaned into the bar and called out as Patrick made his way near.

Like Gus, Lux’s bartender lit up when he saw her. “Hey, Detective! Thanks for saving our skins. I thought I was going to be couch-hopping at the end of the month for sure. What can I get ya?” It’s a bit of hyperbole--Chloe doubted someone who can invent new drinks as easily as Patrick does would be out of work for long--but she appreciated the thought.

“Nothing for me, thanks, Patrick. Where’s Lucifer?”

The bartender frowned. “The Boss is supposed to have a set at midnight, but he hasn’t left the Penthouse since the club opened, so I’m pretty sure it’s a no go.”

The unwelcome image of Lucifer sitting at his bar with a woman rose again, and a thin little sliver of ice started to work its way through her veins. “Oh, sorry, if he’s got company--”

But Patrick shook his head. “No, he’s up there alone. The Boss gets that way sometimes, doesn’t want anybody around.” 

Then the bartender shot Chloe the dimpled grin that won him as many tips as his mixing skills. “You’re on the permanent exceptions list, of course, Detective.”

Somehow this made her even angrier. Why, _why_ , was she on the extra-special ultimate VIP list at Lux when she so obviously wasn’t important enough to him for basic common courtesy? She nodded and gave Patrick the best smile she could manage, then made her way to the elevator. All the way, Lux regulars and staff recognized her, smiled, nodded, touched her shoulder as she passed, thanked her. She wrapped her arms around herself, even more confused. Was Lucifer … did he get angry, somehow, that she had saved Lux instead of him? Did he feel shown up? But then why tell everyone? And …

… And Lucifer hadn’t seemed like his pride was hurt. He’d seemed stunned, like he was unable to even comprehend a friend helping him without asking for something in return. His eyes had just been huge and somehow defenseless, and it had taken all her willpower not to throw her arms around him and kiss him until they were both breathless.

The pain of that thought made her stab the elevator button and step in.

* * *

Lucifer heard the soft slide of the elevator doors behind him and the click of heels onto the penthouse floor. He couldn’t summon the energy to lift his eyes from his drink. He managed a gruff, “Becca, I’ll not be down for the set. Do send another round for the house in apology.” 

A long pause, but no sound of assent, and while Lucifer still didn’t turn, he suddenly felt his heart kick dully in his chest. It thudded in time with the woman walking steadily into his sightline. And then his eyes lifted and Lucifer’s heart crawled right up into his throat and choked off all but the barest gasp for breath. 

“Detective …”

He had seen cold-blooded killers back down from that furious, storm-blue gaze. He’d seen Maze back off too, which was even more impressive. The look in her eyes made him immediately want to fall down and throw himself on her mercy as he’d never begged any of his Family. To promise all the riches in the world for her forgiveness--as though his wealth had ever meant anything to her. 

“Well, you don’t seem to be dead or injured,” she deadpanned.

Her voice started low, superficially calm but strung so taut it made the hair on the back of his neck rise. “I thought something had happened to you. And then I thought you had … company … and lost track of time.”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

“No,” she agreed, cutting her eyes to the phone near his hand and back to him again. “You’ve been what, sitting here _watching_ me wait for you?” Her voice started to rise out of its tight control. “Was this some kind of _prank_?”

Of all her possible interpretations of tonight, he’d never considered this one. It broke his paralysis and he surged to his feet, catching her hands in his as though she were about to tumble backward off a cliff. “ _No_ , Detective … Chloe, no, I would never--”

“Then _why_? Why wouldn’t you show up, or at least let me know you couldn’t make it?” she cut in, and her anger splintered; he could hear and see the hurt underneath, the glisten barely held in check in her eyes. The only thing holding either of them together was her hands still gripping his own, hard enough to whiten her fingertips. 

“I wanted to. I planned to.” He spread their hands and looked down at his suited self, then back up to her. “And then ...” 

He choked on what to say next. What, I got a case of the nerves? Ha! More like I froze like a squirrel in the middle of a highway. 

The Devil is never afraid.

But the Devil never lies, either.

With bitter humor, he finished: “And then I sat here in the dark for two bloody hours trying to find anything good to say to you and drawing an utter blank.”

The Detective gave him a dubious look, which was at least a step up from blind rage. “I find it hard to believe Lucifer Morningstar could be at a loss for words.”

Half-growling in frustration, he let go of her hands to rake his hair. “Yes, well, add it to the endless list of my charms that work for everyone else but fall flat around you.”

Lucifer reached down for the remnants of his drink and downed them abruptly. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Detective. My behavior was inexcusable, particularly so after your help with Lux. I fear my explanation is no better. I would give anything you desire to make it up to you …” he huffed, “... not that I can _know_ what you desire, of course. …”

“You could ask, you know,” she said in a low voice. “You don’t have to mojo me to just _talk_ to me, Lucifer.”

He cut his eyes to hers again, and she was almost harder to look at than before. Her eyes had softened a little, the anger faded to that frustrated/helpless/exasperated look she gave him so often.

All at once Lucifer _wanted_ , a yawning cavern opening up in his chest, not to charm her or even to have sex with her, but to somehow skip ahead to some impossible time when she already knew him, already loved him, already was _his_ and he hers and all of this confusion was over. 

_I think you did come to Los Angeles looking for something_ , Linda whispered in his head, _but I think you’ve stopped. Because maybe you’ve found it?_

If he thought he’d been petrified before, this _want_ made that fear feel like a mild stomach flutter. Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut against the vertigo, then forced himself to look at her and ask, “Is there any way I can make this up to you? Is there anything you desire?”

Chloe's eyes suddenly widened hugely, and her face paled. Her mouth opened and closed, but she only stammered, “Ahh ... I-I-I--” 

Lucifer’s brows furrowed, puzzled, then he pulled a small, cheeky smile. “Wait, did I actually manage to mojo you, darling?”

Chloe stepped back and shook her head, then closed her own eyes as tightly as he’d done and opened them. She took a slightly shaky breath and blew it out. “I think … I think you owe me a drink.”

“Darling, that’s the absolute least I can do,” he said. 

* * *

Chloe sat on the balcony, tamping down a hysterical little giggle with a sip of scotch. 

Be careful what you wish for.

Really, before Lucifer asked, Chloe had known exactly what she desired. 

_I want you to be honest with me. I want to know who you are._

She wanted to know, right up until Lucifer had asked her desire with dark eyes that suddenly flared up like a fireplace catching. The contrast of those wild, burning eyes and the soft longing in his face and voice almost made her too dizzy to stand. And then he’d joked--an awkward, utterly typical Lucifer quip--and soft brown wiped out the roiling flame in his gaze like it had never been. And Lucifer was just Lucifer again, totally oblivious. 

Chloe would have liked to pretend she had been seeing things, but she’d already used up her “just seeing things” excuse on his reflection when he’d picked up Jimmy Barnes, and when he’d loomed over Lindsay Jolson the night she’d shot him. Her partner had eyes that burned with the fires of Hell when he lost control of his emotions, and the only reason she wasn’t cowering on the ground was because the particular emotion he was expressing seemed to be … 

Seemed to be …

Lucifer was the literal Devil. Lucifer might actually have feelings for her beyond getting in her pants. She wasn’t sure which one of those was more mind-blowing.

Maybe the part about God being real, too? 

And Chloe had found the most desperate wish of her heart changed: _I really, really want to be very drunk right now._

Lucifer, for his part, seemed to interpret Chloe’s shock as coolness over the dinner fiasco--which was funny, Chloe huffed to herself, _Hey, the Devil stood me up, I guess that’s on brand?_ \--and she didn’t disabuse him of the notion since it meant he kept refilling her glass with whisky that probably cost more than her monthly salary. She couldn’t seem to stand up, not so much from the alcohol but because she was afraid if she got up, she would leave, and if she left, she would have no idea how to face him again. She had to just sit here until she could figure out what to do with all this.

Chloe pulled out her phone and texted. 

11:52 _Chloe: Hey Mom, would you mind keeping Trixie overnight?_

11:52 _Penelope: Of course, Sweetie! I’m glad you are having fun. ;) Just remember we have to be at court by 9._

11:53 _Chloe: Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back before Trix wakes up._

Chloe stared at her mother’s winky face emoji and groaned. While grateful her mother was the sort to actually approve of her daughter letting a dinner run overnight, Chloe cringed at the thought of Penelope’s barrage of questions in the morning. 

She turned her head toward Lucifer. “I’m staying here tonight, if that’s alright with you. Mom’s got Trixie at home.”

Satan, Lord of the Underworld, raised his eyebrows almost to his hairline and stammered, “You wha--? H-Here? ... You, uh, well, of course, Detective, you are welcome anytime.”

See, this, right here. How could she reconcile flashing eyes and suspects groveling in fear with the man whose ears appeared to be blushing at the thought of her spending the night? Why would the Devil care? Hell, why would Lucifer Morningstar, playboy lover of half Los Angeles, care? Chloe’s mouth filled up with questions she was too tired and bewildered to ask. And she knew, for all Lucifer’s casual assurances that he was the Devil, he wasn’t expecting her to actually _believe_ him. She wasn’t ready to tell him she did, either.

Instead, Chloe passed her drink from her right hand to her left and then turned her right hand palm up between them. She didn’t know whether she was testing herself or him. She wasn’t even quite sure what she wanted him to do. She mostly faced the skyline, just barely cutting her eyes over to watch him. 

He cautiously moved his hand over hers, threaded the tips of his fingers between her own as though he expected to be static-shocked by the contact. Chloe pressed her palm lightly up against his, and a red flicker sparked in his eyes again. She was even more certain he didn’t know he was doing it. Being a fallen angel was a nervous habit he was trying to break, maybe.

He was breathing very carefully, but his heart beat so hard she could see it pulse in the column of his throat. The whisky in her brain allowed her to wonder for a moment what Lucifer would do if she pressed a kiss over that pulse, but the deeper, totally _done_ part of her thought she didn’t have the emotional energy to come on to either the King of Hell or the partner who’d stood her up tonight.

Chloe was a little surprised to find herself weeping. A few tears leaked out, slow and just as wrung out as the rest of her. Lucifer’s hand tightened on hers when he noticed.

“ _Detective_? Are you alri--”

“Perry Smith’s trial starts tomorrow,” she said softly. “I’m taking off work to be there.”

“Ah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I’d be pleased to come and lend moral support if you like, Detective. Can’t hurt to have the Devil in your corner, eh?”

The tears came a little faster then, and really, why _not_ sob? It was better right now than laughing hysterically, wasn’t it? She found she _did_ kind of want the Devil in her corner, or at least she wanted her partner to have her back, even though that probably meant she’s going to Hell, right? Besides, she really wanted to punch God into next Tuesday for so monumentally screwing up his son--who she’s still furious at, by the way, and what if he really does … feel something … and why did she stupidly think she wanted to know all this? 

Chloe doubled over, holding onto Lucifer’s hand but otherwise just letting go, wordlessly raging at the utter insanity her life had abruptly become when she just _does not have time for this crap_ , while her partner sat in silent shock beside her.

* * *

This was not the first time Chloe Decker had ended up drunk and upset at his apartment. In fact, Lucifer wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed that this time she didn’t seem to be rage-stripping. The Detective was crying, and he couldn’t tell whether it was over her father’s killer or his screw-up or both. He couldn’t tell if she was even crying from sadness or anger or exhaustion, as that definitely seemed to be all of the above. 

He did know that he didn’t want to let go of her. Might, in fact, join her in this minor breakdown if he had to stop touching her right now. He tried to soothe her hair back from her blotchy face--the Detective cried silently but not daintily--then when she shivered in the night air, gave up and scooped her into his arms. She stiffened, then simply hooked a hand around his shoulder and pressed her face into the side of his neck. He felt her wet lashes against his throat.

He held her tight against him, murmuring nonsensical promises and comfort into her hair. A little desperate, he swore he would never, ever stand her up for dinner again, and that finally won him a wet, shaky laugh from the Detective.

“You’re damned right you won’t,” she answered, looking up at him. There was something in her eyes, in her face, that made Lucifer’s heart come right up into his throat. 

“Why don’t we get you to bed, darling?” he choked out. “Early wake up and all that. I can take the couch.”

He carried her in and up the short stairs to his bed. She’d kicked off her boots on the balcony, but he left the rest alone as he laid her down and pulled a sheet up over her. He gently separated his hand from hers and ducked into his closet to trade his suit for a robe and pajama pants--more than he usually slept in. When he returned, he spotted her skirt and bra slung onto a chair near the bed and swallowed hard.

Chloe’s eyes were dry but huge and dark, locked on his. She stretched one arm out over the sheet toward him, palm up. He hesitated before sitting gingerly on top of the sheets and covering her hand with his own.

“You should rest, Detective,” he said.

She nodded. “You can stay here,” she said with the soft slur of the drunk and exhausted. “I’m not scared.”

Lucifer huffed a bit of a laugh, “No, I would think not.” _Braver than the Devil, darling._

Chloe’s eyes were drifting closed, but she spoke again. “You don’t have to worry, you know,” she said. “I think your eyes are beautiful.”

He could have dismissed it as another drunk-Chloe quote to tease her with in the morning, and yet Lucifer found himself lying awake next to her instead of moving to go to the couch. Breathing in, breathing out. Thinking back over her expressions, their conversation, her drinking, her tears. There was a picture forming that he didn’t want to come into focus.

He wished he’d met her for dinner. Wished they’d had some light, relaxing evening, maybe with a kiss goodnight on her porch. Wished even that, at the end of his unbearable cock-up, she had been too proud and angry to confront him tonight.

Lucifer closed his eyes and felt her hand against his for a while longer. 

There was a mirror against his closet door he’d see when he stood up. 

He didn’t want to look.


End file.
